The Wrong Shape/transcript
Mr Leonard, sir! Sahib? Sahib? Sahib! What is it? What do you want? I was pruning the hedges in the garden, and I saw something terrible. Mr Leonard, I'm afraid you are going to die today. Fresh from the word ''Sweet the rain's new fall ''Sunlit from heaven... Thank you, Mrs Parfitt! Thank you! How many more? Just a half dozen. Lady Felicia. You do look a picture. Father Brown. Mrs McCarthy. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Not at all. Only I wondered if you'd care to accompany me to a poetry recital? I know it's short notice, but the host specifically requested your presence. Indeed, he was quite insistent. Father Brown is in the middle of auditions. Which, I'm sure, can wait. Who, might I ask, is the host? One of her highfalutin cronies, I shouldn't wonder. Mr Quinton. Mmm. Not Leonard Quinton? Mm-hmm. I've always enjoyed a nice sonnet. Especially that Greek one. The one about the vase. Urn. If you will. Did Mr Quinton say why he wanted me to attend? I'm afraid he's a peculiar man of very few words. I don't like to gossip, but rumour has it he's lost his marbles. Have you met the wife? Is it true she never leaves the house? And that he keeps an Indian hermit? Like you, I don't like to gossip. Hello! She's very young. Welcome. It's such an honour to meet you. I wanted to go to your finishing school, but Papa told me you'd have nothing to teach me. On account of my own natural grace. Not your instruction. Is that Christian Dior? His designs are so flattering for mature women, aren't they? Lady Felicia. Your husband is a very good client. I try not to get involved with my husband's business affairs. Better to enjoy the spoils. I'm sure you've earned it. What a delightful home. Such curious artefacts. Yes. Lenny will be so pleased you could make it. We're very much looking forward to meeting him, aren't we, Mrs McCarthy? Yes, and I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Quinton. Oh! No, Lenny and I aren't married. Not yet, anyway. Come, do follow me. Oh, I'm afraid the train from Paddington was cancelled so it's going to be a rather intimate gathering. I'm ashamed to say that Violet is Leonard's mistress, and almost as insufferable as he is. How very French. Mrs Quinton. And the great man himself! Namaste. Thank you all so much for coming. I realise our domestic arrangements might seem a little odd, but I assure you they are mutually agreeable. Do take a seat. May I have a quick word first? I must confess I'm intrigued to why you've invited me here today. I'm not known for my literary prowess. And you clearly look East for spiritual guidance. She had a smile that used to light up the room. Mr Quinton, is there something you'd like to share with me? I would like you to look after my wife, Father, if anything should happen to me. She's one of yours. But I'm afraid she's lost her way a little. You have my word. I will help her to God's counsel in any way I can. But what do you imagine is going to happen to you? Let's not waste no more time, shall we? Violet, my dear. Perhaps you'd like to begin? Aadhaaranilayah, adhaataa, pushpahaasah, prajaagarah, oordhvagah, satpathaachaarah, praanadah... Entwined in the long grass, sun freckling buttocks, The last thing on our minds are priests in cassocks. My pulse races as he traces his finger 'cross creamy white skin, with a lovely linger. 'Twas as if we were otters, frolicking as hot as a great ball of fire in the wet sand. Oh, yes! YES! I cry to the skies with quivering thighs. It doesn't seem wise to dwell on the lies. But my heart goes cold, and I can't help but fidget, As the band of gold I spy wrapped around his digit. Alas! Alack! There's no going back. Till she loosen the noose and cut him loose. Forever. Paapa-naashanah, samkha-bhrit, nandakee, chakree, shaarnga-dhanvaa, gadaadharah, rathaanga-paanih, akshobhyah, sarva-praharanaayudhah. It slithers out white, sticky. Lump meets stump. Blood thumping, pumping. Bone against bone. Howls crunching. Retch. If I could. If I hadn't. If you were. Hands. No, feet. Clasping air. Gasp in pain. Unfurled. Horror swaddled in twisted crimson ribbons. Vomiting love. Self-pity. Shame. Please excuse me. What was that about? Sssh! And why were we invited to witness it? We weren't all invited. You mustn't look. Lenny hasn't let me see it yet and I sat for him for hours. In my birthday suit! Your father must be very proud. Forgive me, is Mr Quinton in poor health? Not physically. Only these are academic medical text books. He's a man. Ergo a hypochondriac. Lenny used to be a Doctor. He had a practice on Harley Street. Please don't mention it to him. He gets very upset. I can't imagine why. It's his behaviour since that brings him into disrepute. The man's a buffoon. He's talking about converting the stables into a levitation centre, for goodness sake! Meditation centre, based on the teachings of Krishna, Shankara and the yoga sutras of Patanjali. Is he a client of yours, too? I don't have to like my clients to do my job. Though I'd never have taken him on if it weren't for his wife. Martha and I are old family friends. Mrs Quinton! I'm quite all right, thank you, Father. You're shaking. I said I'm fine! It's Leonard that's feeling a little out of sorts. Poor Lenny! Mr Harris, could you take our guests for a stroll round the garden while he takes a nap? Of course. I'll make sure tea arrives promptly upon your return. I'll wait here, in case Lenny wakes and calls for me. Do what you like. Shouldn't we call a doctor? No, that won't be necessary. He's just a little tired. Perhaps I might speak with Mr Quinton privately? No, he explicitly asked to be left alone. A walk would be lovely. A breath of fresh air will do us all the world of good. Do follow me. I gather they have an extremely rare collection of tropical plants! I wish my Parson's Pink would repeat-flower like that. The Quintons have an odd relationship, don't you think? It's none of my business. Who's the Indian gentleman? Martha calls him the gardener. Leonard calls him his spiritual advisor. I call him a fake and extortionist. Oh? He brought him back from his trip to the Raj. Parades him round like an exotic pet. No doubt he's brainwashed Leonard out of thousands, promising to ward off evil spirits in return for a small fee. Corruption's endemic in their culture, I'm afraid. Have you been to India? I couldn't care less how Mr Quinton fritters away his money. I dare say his wife might have something to say about that. His wife seems curiously silent on a number of subjects, the sort of woman who does and then does something dreadful. If she did, could you blame her? Come, we need to stick together. Now what is this one called? It looks like oleander but I think it's something far more unusual. I don't think this is a proper path. I think we must have taken a wrong turn. And if I am not mistaken, all the plants in this bed are poisonous. How horrible. Oh! Lady Felicia! I tripped over that and I've broken my heel! Mangy beast. All ears and fleas. Martha always hated that cat. What's this? Poor creature. All creation, O Lord, is in your care. Give us eyes to see that every living creature speaks to us of your love. Amen. I think I may need some help. Looks like a bad sprain. I'll go and fetch the first aid kit. And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? I looked at your painting. Well? Say something! I gave up everything for you! You're never going to leave her, are you? I hope you rot to death in hell! I thought we'd never find our way back. Well, if you will wear those ridiculous shoes. Was it a poem, or an instrument of torture? And about time too! Sorry I took so long. Aaaah! Stand back. Is everything OK? I thought I heard... Aaaah! Mrs McCarthy. Lenny! It seems he left a note. Umesh, will you call the police, please? Wheresover the body shall be, there shall the eagles also be gathered. Gospel of Matthew if I'm not mistaken. And you're always complaining I'm after your job. Milk, one sugar. That's how Lenny liked it. Thank you. We found this on the conservatory bench, Inspector. Not the most illuminating final missive. Mrs Quinton, can you confirm this is your husband's handwriting? Please accept my condolences. If there's anything... Nothing. Death has been certified. Could you show the doctor out? Shall we join the countess in the study? I'm sure Inspector Valentine has everything in hand. What a perfectly awful day. You think he might have waited till after we'd gone. He was worried how his wife would cope by herself. She barely seems to have noticed. I imagine that was Father Brown's point. This is a very fine oolong. Such a shame the pot wasn't warmed before pouring in water. Next time you can make it yourself. Though, of course, that would involve setting foot in a kitchen. I wonder what made such a distinguished man of science throw off medicine. Maybe something happened on his trip to India. How long did you say you'd known him? I didn't. Truth be told, I only met him a fortnight ago. We were introduced at a charity gala in London. He was with that Hindu fellow, I think. I'm afraid I don't remember our conversation quite so well as the headache I had the following morning. Really, you'd think I'd be used to champagne by now. I need find Inspector Valentine. No, perhaps I should talk to the Hindu gentleman in private first. Yes. Best to have all the facts. Mrs McCarthy, would you round everybody up and bring them to the drawing room? I have something very important to tell you all. I'll explain shortly. But no-one must leave. And no-one must be left on their own! â™ª Dehino 'smin yatha dehe â™ª Kaumaram yauvanam jara â™ª Tatha dehantara-praptir â™ª Dhiras tatra na muhyati. â™ª I don't believe we've been introduced. My name is Father Brown. Umesh Varma. I used to be a tour guide at the Botanical Gardens in Cochin. It's where I first met Leonard. I understand you and Leonard were good friends. He was a good man. A kind man. But I'm afraid his soul was in torment. Did you discover the cause of his sorrow? Mr Leonard was a very private man. I would never betray a confidence. Did Martha and Leonard lose a child? May I ask what business it is of yours? Leonard asked me to look after his wife. By poking round his house and digging up the past? I only want to uncover the truth. The truth is not always black and white. It's over. Why can't you leave it at that? I'm told you have some important information to share. I think we'd all agree Mr Quinton was a deeply troubled man. Married to her? Who can blame him? The woman's not human. You could cut off her head, she wouldn't bat an eyelid. Some people are simply able to keep their emotions in check. Please understand the last thing I want to do in these awful circumstances is to cause you further distress. Get to the point, please, Father. I'm afraid Mr Quinton could not have hanged himself. But we saw it. He even left a note! Go on. Leonard was left-handed, as evidenced by the slope of his handwriting and the arrangement of his desk. Yes. And? The knot of rope around Mr Quinton's neck was tied right over left. I don't understand. What are you saying? He's saying Leonard was murdered. We need a pathologist here as soon as possible. I want the conservatory locked and an officer outside both sets of doors. Search the grounds for anything suspicious. No doubt you have theories. A number of theories... And I'm grateful for your insight so far. But from now this is a murder investigation, so perhaps you could leave the questions to me. Mrs Quinton, did you and your husband have any children? No. So I assume you're the main beneficiary in your husband's will? Murderer! It's obvious it was her. She hated him. She's not the only one. I'll be interviewing everyone in due course so you'll have ample opportunity to express your opinions. Mrs Quinton, could you answer the question, please? I believe he planned to leave me the house. And the rest of his fortune? I'm afraid Mr Quinton recently altered his will and bequeathed the rest of his fortune to Mr Varma. Our gardener. Mr Varma, if you'll permit the observation, you didn't seem surprised to come upon Leonard's body this morning. That's because I knew Leonard was going to die. And how could you possibly know that? I had a vision. A vision? Well, not a vision exactly. It came to me more as a colour, when I was pruning the hedges this morning. And I saw the othalanga in bloom. Oh, that's the name of it! Also known as the Suicide Tree, because its kernels are deadly poisonous. As soon as I saw it in flower, I knew he was going to die today. Just as I know this priest will uncover how and why and that the truth will be sadder still. You don't believe me? I believe there is normally a rational explanation for the phenomenal. So how do you explain your bible? Didn't Jesus walk on water? Feed thousands with a single loaf of bread? I also believe the world becomes a very dangerous place when we interpret holy scripture too literally. But there are so many things that happen which we cannot explain. If you'll excuse me, please. So you're telling me you have the gift of second sight? I wouldn't call it a gift, no. I'm a spiritual man. Did you know Mr Quinton was planning to bequeath you his fortune? Yes. And what were you planning to do with the money? Give it to charity. A likely story. I found this washed up by the lake, sir. What is it? Some kind of effigy? I was saying Vishnu Sahasranama for Leonard. In English? It's a prayer to invoke the thousand names of Vishnu. Leonard was teaching me... I believe we all have a thousand names. A thousand guises. Where were you between I was in the kitchen making pinda. Rice ball offerings. To nourish Leonard's soul on it's onward journey. Before he was actually dead. Yes. While someone next door murdered him? So it would seem. Oh, I've heard it all now! I saw the headstone this morning. Please accept my sincerest condolences. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. my last confession. Mr Varma, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence. Wait! She died a year ago today. Her name was Olivia. You have her photograph in your locket? A lock of her hair. We didn't take any photographs. She was handed to me in a blanket, so all I could see was her face. Her beautiful face. But when the midwife brought me a cup of tea a few minutes later, I remember her hands shaking. And then I looked at Leonard, and realised something was terribly, terribly wrong. She was born grotesquely deformed. Some limbs missing, others the wrong shape. Leonard never said a word. Couldn't even look at me. He ran off to India before I was discharged from hospital. I couldn't bear for her to be gossiped about, paraded through medical circles like some monstrous curiosity, so I decided to keep her secret. I gave up the London flat and I moved here permanently. Leonard came back three months afterwards, and she... died a few hours later. It was as if she'd been waiting for him. We buried her in the garden and then we went our separate ways, albeit under the same roof for appearance's sake. We never talked about her again. I didn't even know he still thought about her until this morning. The poem. I thought he was deliberately trying to hurt me. I realise now that that was the only way he could express himself. I thought he was under arrest? Lady Felicia has belatedly recalled hearing Mr Varma speak publicly about his plans to set up a leprosy charity whilst at a gala in London. So? Whilst it doesn't explain how he predicted Mr Quinton's death hours before it occurred, it does cast doubt on his motives. Unless he murdered Lenny to save the lepers? Does this mean we can't go home? I'm afraid so. I understand Mr Harris, Father Brown, Mrs McCarthy and Lady Felicia were on a tour of the gardens Miss Parnassus, where were you? I was in here. All the time? Yes! She's lying. I heard her in the study. She and Leonard were arguing. Very heatedly, in fact. She was furious with him for not leaving his wife. If I remember correctly, she wanted him to rot to death in hell. Oh, dear. Miss Parnassus? We... We had an argument, and I said some very silly things. I'm a passionate woman! And how did you overhear all of this if you were in the garden? I came back to fetch the first aid kit when Lady Felicia twisted her ankle. In any case, how could I possibly have strung him up like that? Mr Quinton wasn't a large man. I imagine whoever killed him used the trolley we found collapsed at the scene to move his body, climbed the conservatory benches and attached one end of the curtain cord to the plant hook in the ceiling, tied the other round his neck and then pushed the trolley over to make it look like suicide. It could have been any one of you. Even you, Mr Harris. Don't be ridiculous. You hated him as much as she did. It's no secret I never liked the man but what could I possibly stand to gain from his death? When I confronted Leonard after the recital, he told me that Olivia's condition was his fault. It took us a long time to conceive. And I suffered very badly with morning sickness. I was terrified I was going to miscarry, so he prescribed me a new drug he'd heard about on a trip to Germany. He wasn't able to prove anything but he was convinced that's what caused her birth defects. Which is why he gave up medicine. Must have made you very angry. Worse than that. I felt relieved. Because if it was his fault... Then perhaps it wasn't mine. Beginner's luck. Oh, is that what you call it? One doesn't need extrasensory perception to predict your moves. You're always on the defence. And you've got too many men round the edges! We'll need to take formal statements from everyone while we wait for the pathologist's report. Perhaps we might use the study? How is she? Mrs McCarthy, what's the botanical name of the Suicide Tree? Cerbera Odollam. Inspector, would it be possible to have another look at the body? Yes, very likely. Thank you, sarg. The pathologist will need to confirm, of course, but I think I've spotted traces of toxic white sap on Mr Quinton's clothes, which, I'm almost certain we'll discover, is from the othalanga tree. And didn't the dead cat have something white and sticky on its paws? Didn't you say Mrs Quinton hated that cat? That's hearsay. Nevertheless... I knew it was her! I knew it! She has no alibi and an established motive. I'd like to examine her clothes. She'll hang for this! It had nothing to do with her! Or with toxic sap. How can you be so certain? Because it was me. I murdered Leonard Quinton. Are you sure? After I left you in the garden I went back to the house and waited till Violet left the study and Leonard fell asleep. Then I came up behind him and strangled him with a curtain cord. The rest happened exactly as you surmised. You forged the suicide note? The study was littered with his scrawlings. He'd fallen asleep near a notebook. I simply tore out a sheet of paper and copied his hand. Inspector, as far as I'm aware, it is impossible to arrest a man for killing a corpse. I beg your pardon? Mr Harris, I'm afraid when you returned to the house, you were in such a hurry to kill Mr Quinton you failed to notice that he was already dead. What? The notebook you mentioned, you took it with you, I presume? If you hadn't been in such a hurry to forge a suicide note, you might have found the one he'd already written. It's my belief that Mr Leonard Quinton poisoned himself by ingesting kernels from the Suicide Tree. Possibly after experimenting with the correct dosage on his pet cat. "I deeply regret the pain and suffering I have caused my wife "and no longer wish to punish her with my presence." "Please forgive my cowardice and help her to a better life." I thought he loved me! Darling, men are duplicitous and fickle. Better you learn that now, while there's still time. Until the post mortem, we can't be certain that Mr Quinton was already dead when he strangled him. Therefore, Mr Harris, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but whatever you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence. If you hated him this much, why were you always making excuses to come round? Am I the only one who noticed how often he looked at Martha? How quick he was to defend her? I thought if I didn't kill him, she would. At least I'd have the sense to cover it up. Or try. And then after a decent interval I could tell her how I felt and... What made you think she was capable of murder? She pathologically hated her husband. Shuddered when he so much as looked at her. Then there was the dead cat. And when I thought about how fiercely she insisted Leonard needed a nap, and the medication she'd been hoarding... What medication? I discovered this morning. She'd been stock-piling her sleeping pills. May we have a moment alone, please, Inspector? Every time I looked at him, I saw her face. I can't tell you how often I wished I'd never have to set eyes upon him again. And yet now he's gone... it's like losing her all over again. Because despite everything, you still loved him. If you've got all the answers, give me one good reason why I shouldn't swallow these pills. The fact you asked the question must stand for something. So you're not going to try and tell me everything happens for a reason? That this is God's will? I don't know why your daughter died. And I don't know why God let it happen. Then what do you know?! I know that God knows what it is to lose a child. And that he is standing next to you. And that he can't stop you suffering, but that he loves you and he loves your daughter and if you let him into your heart you will see Olivia again. I've never heard anyone say her name out loud before. Olivia. Again. Olivia. Again. Olivia. Mr Varma. I'm sorry I misjudged you. Leonard told you about his daughter's condition, didn't he? You can stay with me until you've had a chance to talk to your parents. Natural grace, indeed. You fixed it! You obviously were never in the girl guides. Always fancied the boy scouts myself. Hop in. We'll give you a lift home. Thank you, that's kind, but Father Brown... The inspector's already offered to give him a lift home in his. Erm... I'm not sure... You'd rather walk? I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take the weight off my bunions. And your chauffeur must be crying out for some intelligent conversation. How is she? Upstairs, sleeping. Umesh will take good care of her. If the post mortem confirms Mr Quinton was poisoned, we'll have to let him go. Mr Harris will always be a prisoner of his conscience. For a few weeks, maybe. Then he'll have forgotten the whole thing, or edited and refined what happened till his conduct is no longer in question. God created man in his own image. It's my vocation to remind people of that. Even the atheists? Especially the atheists. "Play, smile." "Think of me, pray for me." "Let my name be spoken without effort, "without the ghost of a shadow upon it." "Life means all that it ever meant." "It is the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity." "Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?" "I am but waiting for you." "For an interval, somewhere very near, "just round the corner." "All is well." De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine. Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae. Goodbye. Si iniquitates observabis Domine, Domine quis sustinebit. Quia apud te propitiatio est propter legem tuam sustinui te, Domine. Category:Transcripts Category:Season 1